Technomancer (Unspeakable Things: Book One)

stifling.”

Detective McKesson and I left the stucco mansion and walked outside. It was early evening now, and the cool breezes felt good on my face. McKesson checked his watch. It was gold and old-fashioned, with hair-thin metal hands that ticked over the face.
    That watch reminded me I had a question for McKesson. “How are these objects made?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
    He laughed. “I thought I was the detective.”
    “Come on,” I said. “It can’t be critical information.”
    “I don’t know how they’re made.”
    “I think you do,” I said.
    He gave me a sidelong glance, then gestured down to the street. “Your ride took off on you.”
    I turned and took a step down the driveway. I squinted westward, into the dying sun. It was about to fall behind the Spring Mountains. There, at the bottom of the driveway, wasthe open gate. Holly’s car was gone. My mouth twisted in disappointment.
    “Don’t even think about begging for a ride,” he said. “I’m not leaving here just yet.”
    “Why not?”
    “I’m waiting for something to happen.” He lit a cigarette and we watched the sun go down.
    I thought about McKesson. He always seemed to know where and when something was going to happen.
    “You want me to stay for—whatever happens?” I asked.
    “Up to you. I’m not going anywhere.” McKesson checked his watch again as he puffed on his cigarette.
    “Will it come after dark?”
    He shrugged. “Maybe. These events usually do.”
    Just what kind of detective was this guy? Who the hell did this kind of work? I knew he always seemed to show up at events, as he called them. But how did he learn about them so quickly? And how come he was alone, with no army of police backing him up?
    I followed his gaze out toward the Spring Mountains. The rocky range ran along the west side of Las Vegas to the California border.
    I glanced back at McKesson. The man was a black hole of information. He sucked it all up, and gave back as little as possible. If we were just going to stand there anyway, staring at the mountains, I decided to start guessing and see if I could figure out some of his secrets.
    “Can I see that watch?” I asked, putting out my hand.
    McKesson ignored my hand. “No,” he said.
    “Is that real gold? Not many people wear watches these days, you know. I just use my cell phone when I want to know the time.”
    He glanced at me with unfriendly eyes and took one last drag on his cigarette before stamping it out on the porch. “Maybe you should start walking after all,” he said.
    “Don’t want me around anymore, huh?”
    “You can stay, if you want to see what happens next. But I’d prefer it if you were quiet. I’m trying to think, here.”
    “Why did you bring me in the first place?”
    “To verify that one of the Gray Men had taken a shot at you at the convenience store. You identified the finger. That’s why I brought you. Now I’m convinced.”
    The Gray Men
, I thought. I didn’t like the sound of them. I especially didn’t like the indication that there were a number of them around. After all, they appeared to want me dead.
    McKesson checked his watch yet again, and I glanced at it sidelong. I tried to read the dial, but couldn’t. I frowned. Both the hands were pointing in the same direction. The big minute hand was directly on top of the smaller hour hand. I frowned further as I noticed even the second hand was piled up on top of the other two. All three hands pointed at the mansion behind us.
    “I get it,” I said. “The watch points toward these events—maybe before they happen? That’s how you always get there first, isn’t it?”
    McKesson flashed me a dangerous look. When he spoke, it was in a lower, more menacing voice than I’d heard from him since we’d first met at my burned-down house. “Don’t even go there, Draith. People kill for their objects. Even to keep the details secret.”
    I realized he was probably just another rogue with a weak object, like me. “OK, OK,” I said, backing down. “So, what do we do next?”
    “We go back down to the cellar and wait for something to happen.”
    By the time the vortex showed up, I’d almost forgotten why we were down there. It was about one hour shy of midnight, and I’d consumed most of a bottle of very expensive French wine. McKesson had taken only a single glass. He sat at the bottom of the stairs like a bulldog whose master had died on him. He didn’t budge, but kept eyeing the